Home
by mortenavida
Summary: Molly Weasley knew the death of her son was hard, but only now can she understand just what impact he had on one other. character death


**Title**: Home  
**Author**: Jay  
**Warnings**: Deathly Hallows spoilers, slight angst, character death  
**Disclaimer**: I don't own Harry Potter or anything regarding the Fandom. Lyrics belong to Bryce Avary of The Rocket Summer.  
**Author's Note**: The Weasley twins are my second favorite characters. What Rowling did to them was unforgivable, but we deal with what we're given.

_I don't know what I am doing now, and I won't try to act like it 'cause I sure don't know how. And I'll admit that I don't know just where I'm going on this long and winding road that's taking me to what will be my home.  
-This is Me _by The Rocket Summer

**Home**

There were nine golden hands on the Weasley family clock. The old enchanted wood held one for each member of the family, its magic linked directly to their own. There were no numbers around the face, but instead descriptions of where each family member happened to be. It was useless if you wanted to know the time, but it was otherwise extremely helpful for a worried mother.

Currently, two of those hands were on the "work" position. These belonged to Percy and Arthur as they were at the Ministry, helping to smooth things over since the war. Though Percy had resigned during the battle, he rejoined the Ministry by his father's side, fighting for the right people to have control.

Four of the hands were situated on "home." Ginny was upstairs, preparing for the arrival of Harry (something Ron had teased her about before he left to fetch his friend). Molly was downstairs in the kitchen, a little too many potatoes peeled in front of her on the counter. It was for the dinner they had planned later that evening.

One hand on the grandfather clock in the corner ticked over from "work" to "traveling." Weary eyes barely stole a glance at it before focusing back upon the potatoes on the counter. Molly doubted that they would notice the pile of them. Those who ate here didn't have the heart to notice what they were eating anymore. No sound was ever made between them, no laughter and no stories.

It was Molly Weasley's own personal hell.

The clock ticked once more just as the front door was opening. The heavy footsteps told Molly that it was Arthur and not George, as she would have thought. She could never tell with him anymore, as his hand had been stuck on "traveling" since they arrived back home from the final battle. Fred's hand hadn't moved either; Arthur had told her it was just broken.

Molly knew better. Magic didn't just break or freeze. Her son, though remembered, was still trying to get to his final place of resting. Her Fred had yet to find his last place to call home and Molly knew that there was only one reason why he didn't.

The footsteps made their way toward the kitchen. The clock ticked once more (Percy would be arriving soon). Molly didn't pause in her preparations, no matter how much her hands shook.

"Molly," a deep, soft voice said from the door. "I think that's enough potatoes for the eight of us." The footsteps came closer and a pair of hands gently settled upon tense shoulders.

The clock ticked and the front door opened. Percy's soft footsteps moved upstairs. There was a knock on Ginny's door followed by the murmur of carried voices.

"Just a little more," Molly insisted. "There could be some that want seconds."

Arthur said nothing more. Leaning over, he placed a gently kiss upon her brow before leaving the room. There were footsteps on the stairs again as Ginny and Percy joined their father in the living room. The radio turned on, but too low for anyone but them to hear it.

Molly stole a glance at the grandfather clock. Bill and Charlie's names were securely on "home" and hadn't moved for a long time. They recharmed the clock so that their names would only move if they were in trouble. Fred's name, forever stuck, stared at her from it's position.

Arthur had asked once why she didn't remove the name. Instead of answering her husband, George had turned up and said, "He wasn't disowned." They spoke no more of removing the hand off the clock after that, no matter how much in pained all of them that it was there.

Another hand ticked to "home" and it drew Molly's mind back into the present. Three new voices traveled into the kitchen and she recognized every one of them. Ron had arrived from picking up Hermione and Harry, then. The small greetings reached her ears and a smile crossed her face as the house heard the first bit of laughter since the war. It was Harry's laughter.

The front door opened. Molly knew it was George, as his hand was forever stuck with his twin's own. Again greetings reached her ears, but this time it was followed by footsteps. She didn't have to look up to recognize whose they were. She didn't need the clenching in her chest to tell her what they wanted, either. The one son she knew she could never save anymore. The one boy who forced a smile upon his face every morning.

Somehow, she knew. Without a word, she knew everything.

"Mum, I--"

"No." Molly lowered her peeler onto the counter. "You don't need to explain."

There was silence for a long moment. The clocked ticked once and the front door opened again. Still, there was silence between mother and son. An understanding that only they could share passed between them.

"Stay for dinner, at least?"

George's eyes widened slightly at the question, and then he shook his head. "I don't have enough time."

Molly forced a smile on her face and picked up her wand. "I understand." She understood, more than she wanted to.

She shooed George out of the room, pointing to the living room where the rest of their family was quietly conversing. They, at least, deserved to see him one last time. And when he finally left the kitchen, Molly let herself cry. It was as if she were losing her brothers all over again, only these brothers she bore and raised from babes. Babes who were born to bring laughter into the world. Laughter that was never supposed to stop.

A hand gently circled around her waist, followed by a red head leaning on her shoulder. "It won't hurt," he promised, voice breaking.

Molly nodded wordlessly, knowing that nothing she said now would help.

"Do you want me to let him know anything?" The arm slid out from her waist and George stepped back, waiting.

Molly turned then, facing her son for the last time. "Tell him that I love him."

A soft smile spread across his face. "He already knows."

The damp line that made its way down Molly's cheek went unnoticed as her son disaparated with a _pop_. Her eyes sought out the clock and she watched with an ache in her heart. She expected this, but that made it hurt all the more.

The clock ticked three more times. A jerk toward "mortal peril" her Molly's eyes closing, breath catching in her throat. But, she couldn't help a smile as the hand made its final journey on the clock to the only spot it would know: "home."

Fred's hand followed not a moment behind it.


End file.
